


pride

by blondeslytherin



Series: seven deadly sins [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adoption, Angst, Breakup Recovery, Discussion of Depression, Emotions, Foster Care, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing him, Pride, Redemption, Seven Deadly Sins, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:21:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21575962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondeslytherin/pseuds/blondeslytherin
Summary: Pride: consciousness of one's own dignity.~~~He doesn’t miss Lance.He misses Lance.He’s fine.No, he’s not.Lance isn’t anything to him, not anymore.Lance is everything to him, always.They're broken up. It's over. He's not going to get to go back and change it all and even if he could--he wouldn't.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: seven deadly sins [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1338646
Comments: 43
Kudos: 183





	pride

**Author's Note:**

> so the literary pride definition is kinda weird, just go with it. thank you so much to all of you who have stuck with me for this series, i can't begin to tell you how much your comments and support mean to me <3 i've been kinda bleh health wise, so i'm hoping this lives up to expectations. thanks again for the continued support <3 comments and kudos are loved and appreciated.

They begin to heal like this: a ratty t-shirt swooped around Keith’s shoulders, hair loose around his face, pouring himself a flavor of coffee that he absolutely hates.

It was his favorite for a long time; something that was cheap and dependable, easy to brew and hard to fuck up. Something that even he, the kitchen imbecile, could make on his worst mornings.

Until the day that Lance had slept over at his place and Keith had made them coffee the next morning. Lance took one sip of it and his nose wrinkled, eyes crinkling and that polite expression of, “god this is horrible but I love my boyfriend so I’m not going to say a word.” It was almost _worse_ than if Lance had spat out the coffee and made an exaggeration of scraping his tongue, trying to get the foul taste out. Keith had seen him do it before, so quite truthfully, it was a logical thing to expect.

But Lance had drank his coffee with a fixed expression, and Keith felt that sinking feeling in his gut the entire time. “You hate it?”

“Well…”

“Oh my god, you hate it. I’m so sorry Lance.” Keith buried his face in his hands, face red from the fact that he managed to fuck up the un-fuck-up-able.

“It’s just—there’s no flavor to it, babe. You didn’t burn it or anything. Keith, hey, look at me.”

Reluctantly, Keith peered through the gaps of his fingers like a toddler. Lance’s face was soft, open, just the way Keith adored. He hadn’t seen Lance look like this for anyone else in all the years they had known each other. Just him. Only for Keith did he look like this.

“We’re going to get you coffee educated.”

He sat on his couch, sipping his shitty coffee out of a plain ceramic cup, staring out at nothing.

He was okay. He had been hurt before, moved on before. He could do it again.

_Isn’t it funny the way our pride will do anything to heal itself?_

~~~

He swiped away the text without even checking who it was from. His other hand was loosely wrapped around the TV remote, absently flipping through Netflix shows he had absolutely no interest in.

Another text. He ignores it.

A clip from a show starts playing, the heavy “dun-dun” of Netflix blaring out over the speakers. He moves on.

Another text. He slinks lower into his couch.

The TV turns off.

The phone falls out of his hand.

Keith stares at the wall.

He’s pretty sure it’s a Sunday so there’s nowhere for him to be today, no responsibilities to attend to, no people to speak with. Nothing stops him from sitting on his couch and staring at his reflection in the dark TV with a quiet mind.

A knock on the door. He doesn’t look at it. Another knock, and he’s finally looking at his door. It’s probably a neighbor.

A third knock, sincerely more forceful, heavy and insistent. “ _Keith,_ ” comes the muffled voice. “ _Open up.”_

Should he? Should he get up and answer the door and face the man on the other side? He doesn’t really want to. It’s Sunday. It’s his day off. He doesn’t have to.

“ _Keith, I swear to God—”_

His knees creak as he gets up and pads slowly to the door. Not bothering to look out the peephole to see who it is.

“Hi, Shiro.”

Shiro stares at him, eyes narrowed and arms crossed and powerful older brother stance on full display.

“What did you do?”

“Why do you assume it was me who did anything?”

“Keith.”

“Shiro.”

Shiro sighs, looks to the ceiling for guidance. The powerful stance falls as his arms slacken.

“What happened?” he asks in a soft voice, and Keith feels himself begin to crumple.

“Lance and I had a fight and we—we broke up. It happens.” Keith shrugs, throat tight. “No big deal.”

“Really?” Shiro says, face unreadable. “It’s no big deal?”

Keith’s voice cracks. “I’m fine.”

The dam begins to break, the dominoes are shattering, and everything is collapsing all around him. Outwardly, Keith’s shoulders shake as Shiro envelops him.

“Oh hun,” Shiro says, and Keith’s face gets buried in the firm mass of him. His older brother holds him as Keith silently cries, chest constricting as he still tries to keep some of his dignity and pride, trying to not feel, not feel, _not feel._

Shiro leads them inside, gently closing the door with his heel. Keith’s ass hits the couch and his knees immediately come up to tuck under his chin, shoulders hunched and staring at a spot on the floor.

“What happened?”

Keith can’t answer him.

“Keith, please. I need you to let me in.”

Keith shakes his head. “He asked me to tell him he loves him.”

It’s clearly not computing with Shiro. “I still don’t see what went wrong.”

“I wouldn’t. Because I don’t.”

It’s Shiro’s turn to sit in silence.

“You don’t love Lance?”

Keith shakes his head.

“The boy you pined after for years in college, the one you were willing to physically fight Allura over—you don’t love him?”

Keith shakes his head.

“Keith.”

He meets Shiro’s eyes. They’re turned down at the corners, brimming with tears as Shiro watches his younger brother crumble everything he’s always wanted with a white-knuckled fist. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t,” says Keith simply, the fractured feeling of earlier gone. He’s okay with this—what happened. He knows he is. People break up.

No. Big. Deal.

“So you broke up with him because you don’t love him?”

“Well, he kind of broke up with me. I’m the one that walked out the door.”

“Because you didn’t love him?”

“You’ve already said that. What about this don’t you understand?”

“Everything!” Shiro’s kept his cool until now, but the frustration is beginning to show. “I—you—Keith, you—there’s no way you don’t love him.”

“I don’t,” Keith says flatly.

“And why not?”

There’s an outburst bubbling in his chest, pushing at his sternum, begging to be let out and for Keith to break down properly this time. He answers with a shrug.

Shiro swipes a hand over his face, pulling at his tired eyes. “What actually happened, Keith?”  
“He asked me to tell him I loved him, and I’m not ready and not even sure if I do, and anyone who actually loves me wouldn’t push me to say it.”

His hands are shaking.

The gears are turning in Shiro’s head but he says nothing as he pulls Keith into him, causing Keith to topple because he refuses to let go of his knees.

Shiro holds him in their awkward position, Keith’s eyes leaking from the angle he’s at. Time passes and Keith doesn’t think, doesn’t feel, warm circles being rubbed into his back by his older brother.

“Keith?”

“Hm?”

Shiro hesitates. “At some point… one day, you’re going to have to let someone in. You can’t keep going like this. This— _refusal_ —to allow people to get close to you. Hell, you won’t even let me in most days.”

The warm circles stop.

“I know it’s hard. To have gone through what you went through and know firsthand that people don’t last forever. But Lance—he’s a forever person. _I’m_ a forever person. You can try and push me away all you like, tell me you hate me and never once tell me you love me—” Shiro’s voice cracks, “—but I’m still going to love you. He’s still going to love you, even if you walked out and shut that door and told him you couldn’t wait to leave. But eventually, Keith, no matter how unconditional someone’s love is—they have to see it. They have to see that it means something, and that maybe you aren’t entirely insurmountable. Lance never wanted you to leave. He just wanted to be loved, same as you, same as anyone.”

Fluid continues to leak from his eyes.

Shiro’s voice gets impossibly softer. “When you’re ready, Keith, I’m here. You can always say it to me first.”

_I think you should go now._

_Isn’t that selfish, practically begging for me to have you be the first one I say I love you to?_

_Go. Go away. You’re just going to leave me eventually, whether it’s death or you found someone better, someone like Adam who you love more than the surly little kid you adopted._

He doesn’t say any of that.

He just nods against Shiro’s thigh, and the warm circles on his back resume.

They sit like that until Keith’s back is aching and his knees feel like they’ll never properly straighten again. And then Shiro leaves, lingering by the door and waiting. Waiting for something that won’t happen.

“Bye, Shiro.”

“Bye, Keith. I love you.”

Keith nods, throat tight. “I… I care about you, too.” The phrasing makes him cringe but the softening in Shiro’s eyes is worth it.

The door shuts, and Keith is alone again.

~~~

“No, no,” Keith sighs, “I can come and get him.” He’s got one hand fisted in his hair, the other loosely gripped around his phone. His shirt has a steadily forming stain from where he spilled his lunch when the phone rang and startled him. His tie is askew and he somehow wore the too-small pants he swore he donated. He’s uncomfortable and tired and the news he just got isn’t helping in the slightest.

He scribbles down the address the caller gives him, says goodbye and that he’ll be there in twenty minutes, and slumps down in his chair.

Kolivan chooses that moment to swing by, leaning his massive frame against the doorway in a way that reminds Keith way too much of Shiro.

“You picking up the McManus kid?”

Keith nods, points at the note with the address.

Kolivan sighs. “I really thought this was going to be the home for him.”

“Me too. I just don’t understand what went wrong this time. We have an excellent track record with this family. I think he’s the only kid to have ever been booted from their home.”

“There’s just a lot going on with that kid,” Kolivan says, flicking a stray piece of dust off his jacket.

“Yeah.” Keith stands, huffing. “Gotta go pick him up now. I’ve already contacted his next family about his arrival today.”

Kolivan nods. “You’re a good man, Kogane.”

“Thanks,” Keith says, not at all feeling like one.

It’s a longer drive than expected, Keith tapping out a rhythm on his steering wheel as he turns onto the street. The suburbs are lined with picture perfect mini-McMansions, each house and each perfectly manicured lawn screaming nice, quiet life.

There’s a kid sitting on the stoop of the house Keith pulls up to, staring him down. He turns off the engine, steeling himself, and pops out of the car.

“Hey buddy,” Keith says. The kid glares at him, hefting one single duffle bag and a plastic grocery bag onto his shoulder. He muscles past Keith on his way to dump his shit in the trunk. “Just wait in the backseat. I gotta talk to Mr. and Mrs. Barrett.”

“I know the drill,” the kid snaps, and slams the door behind him. Keith breathes, once, twice, dispelling his anger.

The parents are watching from one of the windows, curtains swishing shut at Keith’s approach. Mrs. Barrett, a kind woman with graying temples, greets him with a hug. It’s warm and motherly and has Keith pulling away abruptly.

“What happened?” he asks, straight to the point. Mrs. Barrett looks over his shoulder to Akira in the car.

“He just kept fighting with the other kids. We’re an open home—you know that—and we tried to work with him the best we could. But he was hurting the other kids with the things he kept saying, and no matter how hard we tried, it was like dealing with a brick wall. We gave him space, we gave him love and a warm approach, but no matter what it wasn’t working. It was like we could only do wrong.”

He sighs, grimaces. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Barrett. You’re a wonderful family. He’s been my most trying case thus far, and you were our best hope. We’ve seen so many great kids be changed for the better at your house.”

Mrs. Barrett smiles at him, but he can see the tears in her eyes. “I just hope he finds a home and a family that can give him the love he needs. I’m sad it wasn’t ours, but knowing you, you’ll do good by him.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Barrett. I’ll do my best.”

She reaches up and cups his cheek. “I know sweetie. I just wish we had found you sooner.”

His jaw trembles. “I know, mom.”

“Give my love to Shiro, would you?”

He nods. “I uh, I gotta get going. Got work to do.”

She squeezes his cheek once before letting go. “Take care of him, Keith. I know you will.”

He nods a final time and then departs, taking a shallow breath as he opens his car door. Akira doesn’t say a word as they pull out of the driveway, doesn’t look out the window and wave goodbye to yet another failed foster home.

Static is the only thing that pours out of his radio as they drive, so Keith turns it off after flipping through his six presets to no avail. The clouds of the morning have broken to reveal sunlight slanting down onto the road.

They’re twenty minutes out when Keith gets a call from Kolivan. He answers it through the Bluetooth on his car.

“Kogane.”

“Yeah?”

“You got the kid?”

“He’s in my backseat.”

“Can he hear me?”

Keith glances in the rearview mirror to lock eyes for the briefest of moments with Akira. “No.”

“Just got a call from the Stratons. They don’t want ‘im anymore. Saw his record and revoked it. Just bring him by the office and we’ll stick him in the general house.”

There’s a sinking feeling in his gut that Keith can’t explain as he looks up in the mirror again only to see Akira with a clenched jaw. There’s nothing behind his eyes—nothing Keith can see—and he refocuses his attention on the road in front of him.

“Gotcha. We’ll be back in fifteen then.”

“I’ll have the paperwork ready.”

Kolivan hangs up and Keith tries again to catch Akira’s eye in the mirror. It’s like trying to look a dog in the eye after the dog just ate the cat’s shit and knows you know he did it.

“Pull over.”

“What?”

“Pull over. I’m going to be sick.”

There’s another spike in his gut as Keith swerves into the nearest parking lot. The backdoor opens and Akira rushes out, hands fisted in his hair and dry heaving into the grass. Keith sits in his car, unable to tear his gaze away, until Akira coughs out the smallest bit of bile onto the ground. The boy slumps down on the wheelstop, knees to his chin.

Keith lingers in the car, unsure of what to do. He rolls his window down.

“Akira? You okay there buddy?”

Akira doesn’t answer; doesn’t even give an indication Keith was heard.

He waits a moment longer before unbuckling his seatbelt, swearing low under his breath, and slams the door behind him as he goes to sit next to his charge.

Akira doesn’t move when Keith sits down, simply staring into the grass.

They’re at a local park. Keith’s been here a few times to play soccer on his own or run when the thoughts get too loud. He’s pretty sure he’s been here once or twice with Lance as well, when their group was still whole and they still did things together. Keith distantly wonders what will happen now that they’re broken up—will he ever see Hunk again at the bar? Play video games with Pidge without the awkwardness? He knows Shiro will always be there for him—but what of the others?

“You hungry?” Keith asks. “I’ve got snacks in my car.”

Akira—unsurprisingly—doesn’t answer.

“I’ve also got water if you need it. It’ll be good to wash your mouth out.”

Akira shakes his head. Slowly, as if it’s the first time he’s ever done so.

There aren’t any words left for Keith to say. He’s been pretty good at getting his kids to open up to him—most of them are willing to talk if they know they’re safe. But Akira has always been an oddball. Never speaking unless he had to, never asking for anything. Keith isn’t even sure the boy is eating on a regular basis; not because there isn’t food, but because he doesn’t want to.

“I don’t want any of your psych bullshit today,” Akira says in a low voice. “I just want to sit right now. Where it’s quiet.”

Keith nods. “We don’t have anywhere to be. Take the time you need.”

They both know it’s a lie.

Akira sits and Keith stretches out his legs in front of him, beat up work shoes catching the sunlight despite the lack of polish. His pants are most definitely too tight, and he wouldn’t really be surprised if he stood up with a rip.

“When’s the last time you ate?” Keith asks, glancing over at him.

Akira shrugs.

“I’ve got a protein bar in my car if you want it. Some muffins too, I think.”

“Not hungry.” Akira’s stomach growls.

“Bud, you’ve got to eat. This isn’t healthy.”

“Maybe I don’t want to eat.”

“Well even if you don’t want to, you still—”

“Nothing tastes good anymore!” Akira shouts. “Nothing tastes like anything! I’m so sick of eating and feeling like shit afterward. I’m so sick of not wanting anything, and whatever I do eat feels like sludge going down. It revolts me to try and eat. I hate it. I do it because I know I have to, that I’ll die if I don’t.” His sides are heaving with the outburst. “But sometimes maybe I want to die. Maybe then it’ll just be better for everyone.”

The dam breaks. Akira’s body shakes with the force of his sobs; a boy of fourteen, with the weight of a world that doesn’t want him pressing down against his chest. It’s enough to break anyone. It almost broke Keith.

Keith doesn’t say anything as he envelops him, feeling the tears soak into his shirt but not giving a shit. This boy needs someone, and right now, that someone is Keith.

There aren’t any words to make it easier. There’s nothing to say to someone who doesn’t have anything left to want. There’s nothing you can do in a moment of time to ease the lifetime of unwantedness. So Keith holds him. He holds Akira and Akira sobs for all he’s worth and Keith cries with him. Cries for the boy he once was, sitting on a stoop and crying the way Akira did. Sobbing, wondering what he did to be hated so much that his own mom abandoned him. Thinking that it was never going to get any better.

But it did. The Barretts took him in and he met Shiro and Shiro loved him like he was never going to leave. He found someone. Someone found him and decided he was worth keeping. And that’s all this boy needs—someone who isn’t going to let him leave, no matter how hard he tries to push and kick from the corner he’s put himself in.

Akira cries until he hiccups and only then does Keith pull away, just slightly. He’s still holding the teen, but there’s breathing room now.

“They always say—” Akira sniffles, “—that home is where the heart is. And I want to go home more than anything. But I don’t know where home is anymore, or if I even have one. What if—what if it never exists for me? What if I don’t ever get to go home and have a heart? Is that why no one wants me?”

If there was ever any doubt that Keith did have a heart, it’s gone now as it breaks listening to his quiet fears.

“You have a home, and you have a heart. I promise you.”

“Where?” Akira looks up at him with red eyes. “Where is it?”

Keith feels his own pushing against his chest, beating and breaking with emotions he can’t name. “With me.”

~~~

“Kolivan, this isn’t a discussion.”

Keith is back at his apartment, back braced against his bedroom wall. Akira sleeps on his couch in the living room while Keith argues with his boss over the phone. They sat in the parking lot until the after school sports teams came to practice, and then Keith took Akira to eat something. The boy gobbled it down like it was the first meal he had had in a week—and it probably was. He was calmer now, less prone to the outbursts that got him kicked from different homes.

And Keith had made his decision.

“No one else will take him. This is a specialized case, and I’m what he needs right now. I went through what he went through, and I can help him. I’m not letting him go. Assign him to another social worker if you have to, but Akira stays with me.”

Kolivan sighs through the line. “I just don’t get why this kid—out of all of your cases—you decide this one is the one to take in like a stray puppy.”

“Isn’t this our job, though? To find the best home for each kid and look after their wellbeing? I can do that best if he’s with me. I’m more than qualified to be a foster parent, you know this.”

Kolivan sighs again, this time with a hint of frustration. “But the paperwork…”

“I’m willing to do it.”

He can practically see the way Kolivan is scrubbing a tired face with a rough hand. “Fine. Fine—take the kid. But you have to do the paperwork and fill out all the proper forms and if the higherups decide this ain’t it, your ass is on the line.”

“Understood.”

Kolivan is quiet for so long Keith has to check if the call dropped. “You really think you’re what’s best for the kid? That you can give him the love he needs right now?”

There’s only the briefest of hesitation from Keith. “Yes.”

~~~

“Okay, what’s next on the list?”

Akira looks down at the folded scrap of paper in his hand. “Uhh, I think we should get frootloops,” he says, and Keith resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“Is that what the list says?”

He sees the fight within Akira, before the boy relents with slumped shoulders. “No, it says Cheerios.”

“Do you want frootloops instead of Cheerios?”

Akira shrugs.

“Akira.”

“Yes,” the boy says reluctantly.

“Then go get frootloops.”

Akira glances at him with those wide eyes, and then bounds down the breakfast aisle to get his cereal.

“Well, never pegged you as the father type,” a lilting British voice says from behind him.

_Well, shit._

Keith turns slowly, as if she’ll disappear in the time it takes for him to face her. She doesn’t.

“‘Sup, Allura.”

“Hello, Keith,” she says plainly.

They look at each other. Keith fights the urge to shift on his feet, knowing he did nothing wrong but always feeling like he has when they talk. Her arms are folded, hair loosely wrapped in a bun, face unreadable. Of all the scary women Lance has dated, _this_ is the one to confront him in a grocery store.

“Spoken to Lance lately?” she asks. Keith looks for the hint of self-satisfied smirk but it’s not there. It’s an honest question.

“Nope.”

She makes a tsking noise, and Keith wishes his charge would come racing back with cereal so he could move on.

“Why not?”

“We broke up, Allura, I have no reason to speak to him.”

“Lance and I broke up and we still talk to each other.”

“Yeah, well, y’all are weird like that.”

“Keith,” she says, and there, _there’s_ the pity. The slight head turn, the slackening arms, th way her eyes turn down.

“I don’t need your pity, Allura.”

She scoffs. “I’m not giving you pity.”

“Yes, you are. I see that look in your eyes that tell me you feel sorry for me. I don’t need it.”

Said look becomes hard. “It’s not for you. It’s for Lance.”

Oh.

“I don’t have to be dating him to care about him, Keith. I know you think we were bad for each other and maybe we were, but nothing about our breakup or relationship will ever change the fact that I care about him as a person. He was my friend before anything else ever happened, and it kills me to see you hurt him this way.”

He gapes at her. He’s sure there are words he could say in response, but none come.

“I know you hated me for dating him. It was easy to see why. But then you took him—you took him and you _hurt him_. Why am I still the villain of your story?”

“I… Allura…”

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to. Keith, that boy loves you. He loved you even when he thought he loved me. Don’t waste that. Please.”

“I don’t know how to…” Keith says, jaw trembling. “I don’t know how to make it better.”

“You can’t heal him until you heal yourself, love.” She takes a halting step closer, and then another, until she’s able to wrap her arms around his stiff figure. “All I ever want is the best for you both. Treat him well, Keith.”

He can’t say anything. The words won’t work. They stand in the produce aisle for an uncomfortable amount of time but Keith can’t bring himself to pull away.

Allura finally leans back, eyes shining. She swipes at them once before turning and resuming her shopping. She’s almost gone by the time Keith says anything.

“Allura.”

She turns her head back.

_Cmon asshole, this is where you get over yourself._

“Thanks.”

She stares at him, face once more in that unreadable fashion, before gently smiling and walking away.

“Who was that?”

Keith jumps about a mile in the air. Akira stares at him with a puzzled face, clutching a bright red box.

“An old friend,” he says quietly. Akira shrugs and puts the box in their basket.

“Can I have some cookies, please?”

~~~

Two weeks, four days, and eight hours since Keith walked out of Lance’s apartment. He’s not counting.

It’s dark outside as winter steadily approaches, cold and bleary at five in the afternoon. Akira is taking a nap on the couch before he starts his homework, and Keith is currently laying on his stomach, trying to get his back to realign. Those fucking desk chairs are going to be the end of him, he swears to God.

His phone chimes. Picking his head up, he eyes it, wondering if Shiro has decided he’s going to have another brotherly conversation with him. He’s not… he’s not changing his mind. He said what he said and even if he wanted to, he doesn’t get to take it back.

There’s not a secondary chime so reluctantly, he pulls an arm up and snags his phone.

_Loverboi.Lance has just posted! Be the first to like it._

Shit. He totally forgot he had Lance’s post notifications turned on.

His thumb hovers over the notification before swiping his phone open. Instagram takes him directly to the post.

Lance is leaning against a wall, dressed in a navy-blue sweater and tight black jeans. His brown hair is swept back with the wind, his eyes are closed. Gorgeous face split into a grin. Sunkissed golden hour makes his natural beauty positively painful.

_Loverboi.Lance: can’t see the haters. thanks @ hunk for the photo_

There’s no difference between this photo and anything else Lance has ever posted. It fits his theme, fits his personality, fits _him._ But there’s something about seeing Lance so at ease, smiling like _that_. It guts him.

_Not gonna cry, not gonna cry, not gonna_

Salt hits his lips first. He’s not actively crying; the tears flow from his eyes all on their own, propelled by emotions he’s too weak to control. His vision blurs and he blinks, causing a new wave of wet.

His nose burns. His throat is small, and his toes are cold. Keith focuses on the things he knows he can name.

He doesn’t miss Lance.

_He misses Lance._

He’s fine.

_No, he’s not._

Lance isn’t anything to him, not anymore.

_Lance is everything to him, always._

Breathe in, breathe out. Breath in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe in, breathe in _goddamnit Keith BREATHE_

He chokes on the air fighting to escape his lungs. His chest is caving in; that’s the only explanation for this. He’s burst a lung. He’s twenty-three with a ruptured lung. It can happen. That’s the only possible reason he feels like this.

The phone clatters as it hits the ground. Keith buries his face in his pillow, inhaling carbon dioxide and exhaling tears.

He misses Lance.

Everything in him misses Lance.

The sunshine boy. The only one who’s ever looked past the grunge and rough and said “that’s a boy worth loving.” He misses the way Lance held him; not like he was fragile, but like there wasn’t a reason _not_ to hold him.

He misses waking up in a bed that smelled like the sea at its best. He misses long fingers and pulled hair and a bubble of happiness behind his sternum.

_He misses Lance._

He cries. Keith cries and cries and cries because he knows it’s gone forever. 

~~~

_They’re on a beach. Keith knows this beach. Not the name, but the feeling of the sand. The smell of this specific ocean. The way the wind whips around him, cool against the heat of the sun. It’s sunset. He’s not sure when it became sunset only that it is, now._

_They stroll hand in hand along the sand. It’s awkward. The movies always make it seem so easy; but the sand is different under every person’s feet. No way to tell the bumps only they will encounter._

_Lance is guiding him. He’s telling Keith all about the surf and the way his sisters taught him how to ride a wave. How his brothers taught him how to get a girl in the surf. How he learned on his own that he found showing off for the boys far more entertaining._

_Keith follows him. He’d follow Lance anywhere. There isn’t a breath of air on this earth that Keith takes without knowing Lance._

I’d follow you everywhere, so long as you’ll have me.

_They end up sitting in the sand. It’s not as grainy as Keith remembers it. It’s soft under his butt, shifting as he finds his perfect position._

_Lance’s arm is around his waist. His head tucked into Keith’s._

_“I love you,” Lance says. “I love you more than anything.”_

_He’s being held. He knows this feeling like he knows his own heart. Firm arm around his torso, head against his. It all feels so real._

It all feels so real.

Keith wakes up with a wet face, fists bunched in the sheets. He’s scared to look at the clock. Scared to know that it’s only 1 am and he still has hours left of that dream.

He shoves his legs out of the warmth, joints popping as he stands. He creeps quietly out into the hall, leaning against the doorframe as he looks at Akira. The boy has hair sticking up in every direction, drool on the pillow. His nose scrunches every now and then, evidence of a dream. Keith hopes Akira’s is better than his.

He lingers, watching Akira, wondering what it would have been like if Lance was here to make this decision with him. If Akira had two adults looking after him, instead of just one trying his best to seem like he was more than nine years older than Akira.

“Keith?” a drowsy voice asks.

“Go back to sleep,” Keith murmurs. “I’m only getting water.”

There’s a faint head nod in the darkness, and Keith slips back into his room. His bed is still warm, and for a moment, Keith remembers what it was like when two shared this space. Remembers the dream and what it felt like to be held by Lance. Remembers.

He doesn’t go back to sleep. But hours later, when he awakes, some part of him must have finally knocked his ass out. It doesn’t feel like he’s had any rest, though. His eyes are puffy and his hair is fluffy and every part of his back aches.

Gentle fingers trace over the right side of the bed. Mapping dips and divots and wondering if he’ll ever have someone here again.

He could. He could apologize and say the words and Lance might just take him back.

But he won’t.

~~~

Things feel normal. They’re approaching a month apart and Keith has finally begun to settle into life with Akira. The teen still fights at school and has intense mood swings, and Keith has found at least two broken plates thus far. But it’s better. It’s slowly but surely getting better.

But god that boy can’t sleep on the couch anymore. Keith’s looked into getting an air mattress, but he’s pretty sure that will somehow serve as a bigger insult than continuing to have him sleep on the couch. There’s not a spare bedroom, so there’s not really anywhere he can go right now.

So Keith has begun apartment hunting.

He’s wanted to move for a while. This is the same apartment he had when he was in college, and he’s still centered in that college town. He would like to be closer to his work as well, and it would mean a better school district for Akira, too.

He’s totally outside Lance’s apartment for a perfectly reasonable reason.

Yeah.

Right?

He can’t help that Lance’s apartment building is perfect. Double bedrooms, nice kitchen, closer to work, good school district—sue him if that’s his dream right now.

He doesn’t actually have a real-estate agent, so he’s not really sure why he’s standing here. He already knows what the apartments look like.

He…

He’s standing here.

It’s cold out. A winter wind blew in this morning, predicted but Keith didn’t bother to check his weather app until he was already freezing his ass off. His breath billows in front of him, and Keith huffs just to see the steam cloud.

He knows the time. Doesn’t have to check his phone to know that Lance hasn’t left for work yet.

He…

He knows why he’s here.

It’s a knot in his stomach that he can’t figure out how to untie. It’s a stickiness in his throat like he swallowed peanuts again. It’s a trembling in his legs like the time he locked his knees when the teacher pulled him out into the hallway and told him they would be calling his parents.

He knows what it is.

Lance, at least, is properly dressed for the winter. Bundled up in a dark red hat, tucked low to his eyes. Black jackets is puffy where his hands are buried in his pockets. Blue jeans—without rips this time—keep him warm. He trudges over to his car, hustling over to Blue to get out of the cold.

 _Lance._ The name doesn’t leave his mouth.

 _Lance!_ He tries again, but he can’t say it aloud.

_Lance. Lance Lance Lance Lance I need to talk to you!_

_Lance, please!_

_Lance,_

“Please!”

Lance’s stride stutters. He freezes, and not from the cold. He turns, stops. Sees Keith. And walks the other way.

_Ah shit._

His feet are stuck to the ground. His boots are melted and there’s no way to unstick them before Lance is able to drive away.

Lance stops. Hand on the door. Turns back.

And marches toward Keith.

_Oh shit._

“What, asshole?” Lance asks in a flat voice.

_Words. He needs to say words._

“Are you here to mock me? Stand outside my apartment building and make my day horrible? Is that what you want, Keith?”

Hearing his name from Lance’s mouth does something to him.

“No. No, that’s not why I’m here.”

Lance’s jaw works. “Then why are you here?”

“Because I…”

Lance waits. Patient, as always. God, Keith has made him wait for so much. How much longer can this last?

“I spoke to Allura,” he says slowly. Lance’s face doesn’t change. “She said some things to me.”

“That is generally how a conversation goes.”

His fingers are shaking. Are his hands shaking too? Can Lance see? Why did it all seem so easy in his head?

“I fucked up.” The words come out in a rush, barely more than another puff of hot air. “Lance, I fucked up. I know I did.”

He doesn’t even care if Lance can hear him. Keith barely hears himself over the pounding of his heart in his ears. “I fucked up so much. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

They stare at each other. Keith wonders if the words were only inside his head after all.

“I’m a foster parent now. You know that one case, that kid who kept getting booted from home to home? Yeah. I took him in. No one else was going to have him and it seemed just so right for me to have him. Because I saw myself in him. I saw myself in this poor kid. I knew what he’d been through. Of course I did—I worked his case. But I knew that it was more than just reports in a manila folder. I knew this kid because I _was_ this kid. And I knew that I could give him what he needed.”

He’s still shaking. There are a shit-ton of words he still has left to say. He can only say so many at a time though.

“I’m going to be late for work,” Lance says, unmoving.

“Shit, me too.”

Neither of them step away.

“I’ve never told anyone that I love them. Not Shiro, not my final foster parents, not anyone. Because people leave. And they don’t come back.” Breathe in. Breathe out. “My mom left when I was two. My dad drank himself to death when I was five. I didn’t know love from them. The system couldn’t give me a home that didn’t abuse me until I met the Barretts when I was fifteen. I barely managed to cling to that home, and they still invite me for Thanksgiving. I don’t know what it is to love someone.” It’s cold out. Tears are supposed to be hot but they’re freezing on his face. “But—Lance. You.” He’s choking up. He can’t breathe, can’t speak. “You make me want to try. I love you.”

Everything falls away. The shakes, the cold, the stickiness in his throat and the knot in his stomach. It all goes away the moment he finally says it.

Lance has tear tracks down his face. Keith had no idea he’d been crying too.

They stand there, so close yet so far, neither able to close the distance.

It’s too late.

He knew he wasn’t going to get to take it back once he said it, any of it.

But at least he’s finally told someone.

And then they’re moving in sync, mouths missing each other to wrap the torsos around. Keith clings to Lance like a lifeline, and Lance clings to him right back.

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

He can feel Lance’s heart hammering against his, even through their puffy coats.

“I love you,” Lance says.

“I love you too,” Keith replies.

And then they’re pulling back, falling together and Keith doesn’t think he’ll ever love someone the way he loves Lance in this moment. Mouth against his, kissing him like there hadn’t been even an hour where they were apart.

_I love you. I love you. I love you, Lance._

_Until the end, I love you._

**Author's Note:**

> yay! there's only one more left! i hope this made up for the last two,,, those were kinda angst heavy. this one was too, but i wanted to have a realistic breakup and recovery and getting back together. 
> 
> any requests for the final one?? how'd i do for this one?? let me know in the comments!!
> 
> come shout at me @:  
> tumblr: [blondeslytherin](https://blondeslytherin.tumblr.com/)  
> insta: blondeslytherine


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